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<title>Ten Ton Eyelids by DolanOats</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627389">Ten Ton Eyelids</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DolanOats/pseuds/DolanOats'>DolanOats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Steinbeckian Styled Interchapter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:14:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DolanOats/pseuds/DolanOats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just something I wrote. Styled like a Steinbeck interchapter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ten Ton Eyelids</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun hung from the sky, the bright yellow clinging to the blue like it was a lifeline, illuminating the mist that grasped the ground, permeating through every open space. The mist wrapped its way from the drab grey peeling paint that covered the new music building, through the gum covered quad, and reached its incorporeal fingers all the way to the science wing. The science wing was an indiscriminate building, but a feeling seemed to occupy everything around it, twisting around the corners, seeping under the doors, pushing against the walls, an aura of fatigue. Approaching the source, everything about the building was hollow, devoid of liveliness, uniform slabs of concrete, cracks spreading throughout like spiderwebs, growing plants lined side by side, thin pencil-like trunks leading to even thinner branches and dew covered leaves. The air was still, no leaves rustling, no insects chirping or shuffling or buzzing, no students running late, pristine white shoes dirtied by a speck of dirt and shoelaces trailing behind like streamers, not even the tell-tale hum of golf carts as the janitors rushed throughout the school could be heard. Throughout the silence, only one sound penetrated this barrier, a monotone droning coming from the propped open door or a classroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the class, the words settled like a blanket over the droopy eyed students. In the middle, the student sitting in the miniature desk no longer looked like a student; shoulders hunched, eyes drooping, body sinking, head bobbing, he was almost a part of the desk, a simple extension of the seat. The student behind him sneakily jostled his phone from out of his hoodie, pulling up the hood, obscuring his face from the glazed uncaring eyes of the teacher. The student in front quickly became nothing more than a wall of flesh, living, breathing, yet unmoving, providing the perfect cover as the student behind him allowed the blue light to pierce his retinas, waking him up more than any caffeine could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Psst! Put that away, hissed his friend, Andrew, Alex, Michael or whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet, I need to do my homework! Didn’t finish last night! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever dude, just don’t get copped by the fuckin’ teacher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel turned his face back to the front, the bags under his eyes and his unkempt hair swinging with the momentum before coming back to rest on his sagging features. The student returned his eyes to his phone and pulled up an online copy of The Grapes of Wrath. The caffeine pills he nearly inhaled this morning finally beginning to take effect, the student gaining a sense of alertness and feeling the blood rush through his veins. But, even this rush is no match for the atmosphere of the class and the student begins to sink down in his seat, much like the others around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A desk jerked, pencils falling to the ground, clattering against the hard tile floor. A student sat up in his desk and peered over the edge, determining how he could get his fallen items with the least effort possible. He kicked his foot forward, the dirty sole barely hanging on to the rest of the shoe, and barely managed to nick his pencils. He pulled his foot back and to his relief, the pencils came with it. He reached down and grabbed his items, setting them on his desk before returning to his head bobbing, trying not to fall asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Near the middle, the student’s head bobbed one final time, before his eyelids dropped shut like a guillotine and his head crashed down onto his desk. The teacher’s posture did not shift, and her jaw, muscles hardened from years of lecturing, never stopped moving, spittle flying out from her cavernous mouth.</span>
</p>
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